


Medically Brunet

by godbewithyouihavedone



Category: Legally Blonde - All Media Types, Legally Blonde - Hach/O'Keefe/Benjamin, Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Medical School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 15:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2512760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godbewithyouihavedone/pseuds/godbewithyouihavedone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac follows his ex-boyfriend to John Hopkins medical school to prove that he isn’t some shallow party boy.  Legally Blonde crossover, based more on the musical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Almost-Engagement

“It’s been a week,” Jehan says. Courfeyrac can just imagine him, mournfully resting his fingers against the doorknob. “He didn’t even come to my poetry reading drunk. He always comes to my poetry readings drunk.”

One of them raps twice on the door, likely Enjolras.

“If this continues, we will have to create new roommate assignments.” Yep, Enjolras. “Courfeyrac, I can’t take it, if Marius sleeps on my couch in the president’s suite one more time I--Courfeyrac, he snores!”

Courfeyrac attempts to tap down on the undignified sniffling, and fails.

“You are the Membership Director,” Enjolras says. “And you’ve missed two different meetings. If you need for me to set up a way for you to participate in our fraternity leadership without seeing your ex-boyfriend, you need to say so.”

Courfeyrac flinches and continues stress-eating chocolate.

“What?” Enjolras asks.

“Mentioning that is really not the way to get him to come out," Jehan says.

“I have a key, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras says. “I won’t be afraid to use it. On the count of ten.”

“I hate you,” Courfeyrac says, and blows his nose as loud as he can, for spite. “I can’t believe you’re taking his side.”

“I’m the president, I don’t take sides. And, for what it’s worth...” Enjolras takes a deep breath, and then there’s a thunk as he leans on the door. “I think it’s temporary. I think he’ll realize he loves you--”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

Courfeyrac pushes the door open, and watches as, predictably, Enjolras and Jehan recoil.

He’s probably a sorry sight. The eyeliner he usually wears is smeared down his cheeks with crying, and the only things adorning his body are a pair of Angry Birds boxers and smears of chocolate all over his fingers. He’s holding Combeferre’s high school senior picture, featuring not inconspicuous acne and a puce sweater-vest, to his chest, and without his consent, his body has decided to constantly let out little hiccupy sobs.

“I thought he was gonna ask me to marry him,” he says. “So if I don’t know shit, and I’m so freaking good with people, what do you know? He probably never loved me.”

“And--”

“And! And you and Marius can just get comfortable, because he said, he said he thought we were…”

“Courfeyrac, you can’t blame him for being confused,” Jehan says. “You literally created a Facebook page for the appreciation of Marius’s ass.”

“That’s right, keep telling me how stupid I was.”

“No one said that,” Enjolras says. “But, if it’s at all possible…”

Jehan raises an emerald-dyed eyebrow. “Which it’s not, which is why you shouldn’t ask--”

“If it’s at all possible, I’d appreciate it if I could act as a mediator between you two so we can solve this issue and return to running this upstanding organization.”

“It’s not an ‘issue’ if your best friend rips my heart out,” Courfeyrac says, and he throws the high school picture at the wall, causing Jehan to duck and the frame to smack against a picture board of a protest from two years ago.

“You’re my best friend, too,” Enjolras says.

“Okay,” Courfeyrac says, his lip trembling with holding back tears. “I’m gonna finish my movie, and the quirky lesbians are gonna get together, and they’re gonna stay together, forever, and not leave for freaking Baltimore because I’m not ‘serious’ enough, no, they won’t lie or, or...”

“Darling angel,” Jehan says, and springs forward to hug him just when Courfeyrac collapses into sobs.

Enjolras steps back, swallowing. “I’m sorry…”

“Your life will continue, and you will be as bright and mischievous and empathetic as we all know you are, and there will be other boys, and other chances at happiness, that are more mutual, I know it, you know it,” Jehan murmurs into his hair. “But tonight you have to honor your commitments and face down the one who hurt you, and I know you will, because you are one of the bravest people I have ever met. And right now you are going to shower. Right now.”


	2. The Almost-Reconciliation

That night, they steal chairs from the beer pong table to convene in their frat house’s common room. Courfeyrac is wearing sweatpants, but he’s attempted a shirt and his hair hangs damply over his shoulders from the shower. Jehan left to buy emergency ice cream, claiming he could procure the one with wine in it, and Enjolras is slowly rubbing Courfeyrac’s shoulders. Any moment now, Combeferre will walk through that door, and the reconciliation will begin.

“I love you,” Enjolras says, clearly trying his hardest not to sound stilted.

Courfeyrac grits his teeth. “Super.”

He can hear the steps outside, and they both breathe in.

Even knowing Combeferre is an emotionally glacial complete deceiver, it’s difficult not to be charmed as he shuffles snow into the entranceway, wrapped in three scarves. He flawlessly unbuttons his great-coat to reveal the Hot Professor garb underneath as he pushes his fogged-up glasses from the brim of his nose. It’s a struggle for Courfeyrac, not run up and cover him in kisses, or even more embarrassingly, shove him against the wall.

“Hello,” he says. Red dusts his cheeks as he looks at them both, from the cold and the embarrassment. “Thank you so much for agreeing to this, Courfeyrac, and arranging this, Enjolras. I know it must be difficult right now.”

Courfeyrac folds his arms over his chest. He isn’t going to cry right off the bat, to play the part of the lovestruck fool. Not anymore. He is here to reclaim his dignity, and show Enjolras he still has that Leadership Potential and Goal-Oriented Focus that caused the grad student to sweep him up at orientation, automatically induct him into the Fraternity Leadership Coalition after initiation, and introduce him to the best friends he’s ever had. Alpha Beta Gamma is his life, and he will leave a legacy of care and guidance to the underclassmen when he graduates in the spring, not skip out on meetings like an imbecile.

Thinking of that makes him think of how many of the initiates look up to him and Combeferre, as the perfect brothers and the perfect couple. He struggles to look at his ex as Combeferre sits down across from him. The chair creaks. Enjolras reaches out and grasps both their hands.

“Was I too blunt?” Combeferre asks. “Usually, I mean, I would have asked you for advice, run my instincts by you to figure out how to be kind...but that wasn’t possible, and I did the best I could. I laid it out rationally and precisely--”

“You can’t logic someone into not being hurt when you dump them,” Courfeyrac says.

Enjolras squeezes his hand fiercely, a silent plea for civility.

“Did you not understand my reasons, then?” Combeferre asks.

“No,” Courferyac says. “I don’t understand you. Four years, four fucking years we’ve been together, and we weren’t even fighting, you got me that wonderful trip to Niagra Falls for my birthday, we still haven’t gone to it--”

“I figured you would take Marius,” Combeferre says, bitterness underneath his calm tone.

“I have never fucked Marius. Never. I live with him because I prefer to have a roommate, rather than a partner, in my space all the time, and I made a Facebook page dedicated to the appreciation of his ass because literally everyone thinks his ass is awesome, and I made out with him but that was one time and I was stoned--”

“I didn’t even know that.”

“ _I_ didn’t even know that,” Enjolras says. “Why would you do that?”  


“I wanted to know what his teeth felt like, because he has really interesting teeth and it was really good weed. For the record, they’re bumpier than I imagined, and I still didn’t fuck him, so I don’t know why I’m the bad guy here.”

“The fact that you don’t believe that incident is worth commentary only underlines my point,” Combeferre says. “We’re looking for different things, and I think we both knew it, but I chose to cut it off before we really started fighting, because long distance is difficult even if--”

Courfeyrac jumps up, letting go of Enjolras’s hand, and stalks forward. Combeferre looks toward the door, not at him. That’s the worst part, that he’ll lie and lay it all out and he doesn’t even believe himself enough to meet Courfeyrac’s eyes.

“I didn’t know,” Courfeyrac says. “Combeferre and himself, the most important people of our fucking relationship, you might have worked it all out, but I thought we were gonna get married. I thought what we had was beyond amazing, I’m still so in love with you. I don’t know how we went from sunshine and roses to you just dropping me like it wasn’t…”

“We didn’t move in together, or make plans. You were too content with your parties and matchmaking and, you know, everything.” Combeferre sighs. “I’m not criticizing you, my love, but it isn’t how I want to live after college. I’ve been accepted into Johns Hopkins medical school, and I won’t have time for what won’t last.”

“You won’t even give us a chance.”

“Um, what do I say to mediate?” Enjolras asks.

“We were never serious, and there was a reason for that, because you weren’t serious about the way I felt about you,” Combeferre says.

“I can be now, I can stop partying, I don’t want to be single, I want you, I don’t give a fuck, fuck the rest of it,” Courfeyrac says. A plan is forming in his head, perhaps completely insane, perhaps utterly inspired. “I’ll go to Baltimore with you, and I’ll go to grad school, too, and we’ll both be bogged down with awful work but whatever, you won’t say such stupid shit about me. We’ll move in together, fine, I don’t care, I really don’t, we can swing this. Enjolras, back me up here: we’re the center and guidebook and leader and whatever, we’re us, we can do anything.”

“I’ve made the decision, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre says. He reaches out, but it isn’t right, and Courfeyrac flinches back, beginning to pace the room. “I love you, and I will always treasure the memories we made together, the improvements we were able to enact in our fraternity. But this isn’t a negotiation of our relationship. We don’t have a relationship anymore.”

“You’ll see,” Courferyac says.

“Uh,” Enjolras says.

“I’m pre-med, too, you forgot that.”

“You’re pre-med because you were too lazy to do a second major and our school didn’t offer a pharmacy technician program that would fit into your fashion degree,” Enjolras says. “And to grope Combeferre in biology classrooms.”

“Mostly the last reason, but I have good grades, I can do this.”

“What happened to being the pharmacy technician with the tightest-fitting clothes and the most radical political views to piss your parents off?” Enjolras asks. “It’s a lot of work and I don’t think Combeferre is comfortable--”

“It’ll be alright, you’ll see, we’re always awesome in classes together,” Courfeyrac says.

Combeferre stands up. “I can’t listen to this.”

“We’re gonna get married, asshole, because I’ll be the type of person you marry, I’m already the type of person you love. Don’t walk away!” Courfeyrac steps closer, grabs the lapels of his jacket, anchoring himself in Combeferre’s warmth, in the familiarity of Combeferre’s judging eyes. “If I get into John Hopkins, you’ll go on a date with me. Promise.”

“Negotiation over,” Combeferre says, and wrenches away from him. “Don’t make this harder on yourself, love. Enjolras, I won’t be coming to the next meeting.”

Courfeyrac bites back tears. “Fuck you, I’m gonna do better than you think I can ever do.”

When Combeferre storms up the stairs, Enjolras finally rises and puts a hand on Courfeyrac’s arm. “There are other people, everyone loves you, why don’t you just--”

“There’s no one like him. Not ever. And I’m not going back on my word.” Courfeyrac turns and hugs Enjolras to him tightly. “We’re gonna rock this bitch, and then you’ll be the best man. Just watch.”


	3. The Almost-Seduction

Courfeyrac is admitted into John Hopkins, the same semester as Combeferre. Score one. He shows up in Bahorel-approved Skinniest Jeans In Existence on the first day, sporting an amazing cat-eye and a super-expensive button-down shirt rolled up to show off his tan. Flirting with Combeferre in anatomy classes is a pastime he'd dearly missed, and everything looks like it’s going great. Combeferre is smiling at him! Combeferre offers to give him the notes!

He waits while Combeferre takes a call after class, wanting to cash in on the date idea. Sure, they’d never agreed on it, but getting into John Hopkins is super impressive, and he deserves at least dinner and a movie for it.

The TA hands out syllabuses while Combeferre talks indistinctly into his phone. Courfeyrac hears him say, “Miss you so much, love you, can’t wait to see you again during break.”

“Catching up with Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asks.

Combeferre blushes, and that’s never a good sign.

“If it’s weird to talk outside of class, I can give you time,” Courfeyrac says.

“You should probably know,” Combeferre says, and he takes a deep breath. “Situations...developed.”

“Uh huh.”

“I realized I’d been blinding myself, and--”

“Oh my god, it’s the first day and already you know,” Courfeyrac bites down on his smile. “It’s okay, I forgive you--”

“Jehan and I are dating,” Combeferre says.

It feels like he kicked Courfeyrac in the stomach.

Because Jehan nursed an unrequited crush on Combeferre for forever, since before he dyed his hair, and Courfeyrac stayed up until the break of dawn holding him and telling him that they were both worthy of his love, and Combeferre could choose who he wanted. He’d thought they understood each other deeply, united not only as friends but as admirers of ABG’s vice president.

Enjolras told him he was being too accepting, that Jehan writing poetry to his boyfriend and playing third wheel during their video game nights was a threat to the relationship, and Courfeyrac had smiled with the ease of a man perfectly in control. And Combeferre hadn’t wanted to do long distance without true compatibility.

“I love you more than he ever will,” Courfeyrac says.

Combeferre shakes his head. “Because you stalked me to this place against my wishes and your previous aspirations? That doesn’t look like love to me.”

“You should head to your next class,” the TA says.

“You should give a shit after four years I wasted on you,” Courfeyrac says. He picks up his bedazzled backpack and slings it over his shoulder, haughtily as he can manage. “Oh, and a semester trying to get into this hellhole. If we went to Niagra Falls now, I’d push you off it.”

It’s just his luck that he cribbed Combeferre’s schedule before he registered for his own, and they have almost every single class together, for the rest of the day.

His schedule consists of this: he glares at the back of Combeferre’s head. He glares at Combeferre beside him, when they’re unlucky enough to have alphabetical seating. He pushes back in his chair and glares backwards up at Combeferre, who is quiet and studious as always, betraying none of the merciless virago Courfeyrac knows him to be.

Then his classes are done, he already has too much homework, and it turns out they’re even in the same apartment cluster. When Jehan visits, he will curl up next to Combeferre as he works himself blind by the light of his laptop at three in the morning. They’ll have quiet sex in the cramped little bed, and he’ll wake up to Combeferre’s atrocious morning breath. Courfeyrac will be down the hall, playing the sucker and paying out his ass for med school tuition.

There is no kindness in this life.

Marius calls him on Skype right when he’s collapsed over his desk, dreaming of wine ice cream carried to him by men who are not traitors. “Hey High C,” he says.

“Don’t call me that, I’m trying to be more mature now.”

When Marius waves, his engagement ring glints in the overhead light. Courfeyrac remembers when Marius came to ABG as a virginal braceface home-schooler, stalking some poor blonde chick from across the campus for like half a year. Then he went in for tutoring, and she taught him complex algebra, pre-calculus, and oral sex. Courfeyrac didn’t participate in the betting pools for when their liaison blew up in Marius’s face. But even he couldn’t predict that, when Marius finally spit it out that he wanted to be more than friends with benefits, they’d turn into the most sickening couple in the universe.

That honor had always gone to him and Combeferre.

“I should do a group chat, all the brothers miss you like crazy,” Marius says.

“Okay, do everyone but...Combeferre and Jehan and Enjolras.”

“Sure. Are you talking to them separately or something?”

Courfeyrac grumbles in lieu of a non-embarrassing explanation.

“You are so lucky,” Joly says.

Like much of the ABG membership, he is halfway across the country, starting on a medical training program. Their fraternity advertises to the pre-anything-scientific majors, and they all share in the stresses and joys of their various choices.

Joly wants to be a nurse practitioner, and Bossuet is studying occupational therapy. Jehan the Man-stealer is planning on pediatrics. Bahorel already works as an ambulance driver and is saving up for RN school. He’s still hanging around the frat after graduating, trying for a dual JD and MD degree, dropping out, and taking a second job as their building manager. Enjolras is considered a bit of a weirdo for his grad program in Public Health, and the presence of Marius, poor sweet future lawyer Marius, confuses them all.

Bahorel bursts into Marius’s room, his smiling face taking up three fourths of the screen, and Bossuet logs on a minute after that. “Musichetta says hi,” he says.

Musichetta is the leader of ABG’s sister sorority. She good-naturedly dated around them until Bossuet and Joly got her to agree to a threesome, wherein she apparently saw the light and after about a week of light-seeing, Joly wandering around with sex-hair all the time and Bossuet wandering around looking bald but content, committed to being their girlfriend. She cried when Joly moved away, and now she’s only with Bossuet.

“Promise on your Pledge to tell me the truth?” Courfeyrac asks.

“You’re wearing the pants!” Bahorel puts two thumbs up right on the webcam while Marius emits a distressed whine in the background at people touching his tech. “Awesome, dude!”

“Promise on my Pledge,” Joly and Bossuet say together.

“Who knew that frickin’ Combeferre and frickin’ Jehan are a thing now?”

“What?!” Marius screeches.

“Oh shit,” Bossuet says. “That sounds like something that would happen to me.”

“Thank you, thank you, that’s what I’m talking about.” Courfeyrac grabs at his hair. “I can’t fucking believe it, I hate him so much. After all the work I went through, and it’s--Jehan’s like one of my closest friends. Not a bone of loyalty in their bodies, either of ‘em.”

Marius worries at his lip with his teeth. “Jehan really liked him, you said that before.”

“Fuck, what if he was cheating on me the entire time? What if his obsession with our shit was just about him covering it up? He had to know we weren’t a thing.”

“That’s why you didn’t let me in your room that time? Because Combeferre thought we were together? I’m going to be a married man, what does he think of me?”

“You can’t trust lawyers, what do I always say?” Bahorel rubs his head affectionately. “No, that was bullshit, I told him it was bullshit. You only made out with Marius once, that’s forgivable.”

Courfeyrac nods. “Exactly what I--wait, how did you know I made out with Marius?”

“He has a distinct hickie-shape his teeth make,” Bahorel says. He turns to Marius. “You have really weird teeth.”

“I can’t help it.”

Courfeyrac makes a shushing gesture. “Anyway, I need to know what to do, guys. I came here to be with Combeferre, and I’m not a home-wrecker, but Jehan wrecked my home first.”

“I’m not sure the metaphor holds up,” Joly says. “I think you should let the guy choose. He’s smart.”

“Not about this, apparently. Argh, I forgot how to seduce him.”

“Booze,” Bossuet says.

Bahorel nods. “The pants are a start.”

“There’s this strawberry body dust you apply with a little feather tickler that Cosette--”

“Whoa, I did not need to know that.” Courfeyrac glares at Marius. “That’s the type of shit that convinced him I wasn’t worth it in the first place. He thinks I don’t have a future beyond college, so I’ll have to be really smart, which is easy, and really studious, which is gonna suck. But I was admitted to John Hopkins. Honestly, that’d be enough for most nerds. He’s playing hard to get.”

“He’s playing dating someone else,” Bossuet says.

“Maybe if I change up my look, he’ll see I’m committed to this medical-student thing,” Courfeyrac says. “I’ll get sweater vests, and glasses, and I’ll dye my fucking hair and wear flowers, if it takes that. He loves me, he didn’t love Jehan until he freaked out over the future and dumped me. Phase Two of my amazeballs plan is coming right up.”

“But if he loves you for you, is pretending to be someone else helpful?” Joly asks. “You have to believe in him, brother, you have to know that you’re what he’s looking for. Succeed in your classes, call us if you need help studying, and keep being amazing. We’re with you, but make sure not to pressure him.”

“If only I could just show up to tutoring and have your luck, Marius,” he says.

Bahorel pumps his fist. “Ask him to tutor you, then put on a little skirt or something, that’s the spirit!”

Courfeyrac signs out with a sigh.


	4. The Almost-Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is posted due to the lovely comment by Vulf, reminding me to post my updates (I have about 7 chapters written, I'm just hella busy right now). Enjoy!

It turns out, John Hopkins is not completely the party-deprived collection of misery Courfeyrac thought it was. Joly did tell him not to let go of his entire lifestyle, so Courfeyrac shows up to the first get-together he’s invited to. He makes sure to only have enough beer to achieve tipsiness.

“Really takes you back, doesn’t it?” a voice asks (Combeferre, he’d know Combeferre anywhere, he’s still magnetized to him). Combeferre swishes the beer around in his red solo cup. He's dressed down in a starched white shirt and jeans, hair slicked back with product. And he's still wearing the gently earthy, ambery cologne that makes Courfeyrac want to bury his face in his neck. “I could almost call you High C and drag you back into a corner to make the underclassmen uncomfortable.”

“ABG was fuckin’ awesome, I miss living it up with the other frats and trying to count the homophobes,” Courfeyrac says. “How’s your first week of classes been?”

“Stressful,” Combeferre says. “It used to be I knew everything. Now the material comes faster than I can study it, and I can lose my place during lectures. Everyone is beyond brilliant here, I’m lucky, surrounded by so many excellent minds, but it’s. Intimidating. I never realized how much I stood out before, at our campus.”

Courfeyrac gives him a small smile. “I always did.”

“No one thought I was cool until you did, you know,” Combeferre says. “Enjolras wanted me on the leadership, but Enjolras isn’t exactly admired in those circles. I barely had friends outside you two. Then you’d talk about me with stars in your eyes, and that gave me a chance to find a wonderful group of people. I probably wouldn’t have joined ABG if I didn’t have a crush on you.”

“You used present tense there,” Courfeyrac says.

Combeferre shakes his head, staggering a little. He always was a lightweight. “I’m being silly.”

“No, you’re not. I have a crush on you, too. This program’s been incredible. Much harder than I wanted. But to be in it, with the massive piles of homework and the crazy-snooty people, at your side again, it’s awesome. We were a great team, we loved--”

“You can’t keep talking to me like this. Jehan is going to transfer next semester into John Hopkins, and it’s not.”

Courfeyrac is not going to cry.

“We had our chance,” Combeferre continues. “You’re still here, in too much eyeliner, with your patented smile. You said it would be different. But Courfeyrac, no one wants you to change but you. He’s leaving his scholarships to be at this school, to be with me, and I’m just not looking for you anymore.”

Courfeyrac wants to kiss him. He’s seen Jehan and Combeferre in those difficult months during which he was studying his ass off for his entrance exams. They don’t have the spark that he and Combeferre always shared. He bets Jehan doesn’t shut down Combeferre’s higher functioning. Doesn’t make him giddy just to look into his eyes. And he knows that Combeferre is worth much less to their peers as Jehan’s boyfriend than as Courfeyrac's. He still has everything to give, and now he’s planning on becoming a doctor, too. If he kissed him, Combeferre would recognize.

But he doesn’t want that, to worm his way into a relationship, to be no better than the one who used to be close to him. He wants Combeferre to beg on his hands and knees to be with him again, and drunk at a party is not how that happens. That’ll happen when the tests pile up and the grades come in. Hearing Jehan speaking low on the phone will be much more magical and mysterious. Seeing Jehan, who doesn’t have a six-pack like Courfeyrac, hello Combeferre, try to live up to his legacy in bed, that won't be so awe-inspiring. Then he’ll win.

Right now he’ll cry on a bench outside the party and stuff chips into his face.

“Sup, Niagra Falls,” someone says.

Courfeyrac licks the salt from his lips, both from his tears and coating his empty scoop tortilla chips. It’s his TA, in a scrubs shirt and ratty jeans, still lugging around a giant textbook. “Don’t laugh at me,” he says.

“I’m too confused to laugh,” his TA says, sitting down next to him on the bench. “Are you wearing eyeliner?”

Courfeyrac rubs at his eyes, then goes back to the chips. His fingertips are stained black and his hygiene is as deplorable as he feels right now. “It looks good when it’s not runny.”

Like a complete dweeb, the TA offers a genuine cloth handkerchief from his pocket. “Why are you crying?”

“I love him so much,” Courfeyrac says, and blows his nose on the handkerchief. “But it’s never gonna matter.”

“That one student with the glasses? What happened between you two?”

“We were it, you know, we met and he joined ABG for me and was a fantastic bottom for like, four years. And then out of the blue, wham, you’re not serious, you party too much and don’t want to live with me. So let’s not even work on our issues, I’m just gonna leave!”

“Harsh.”

“So I’m here, because I couldn’t just leave, I wanted to marry him, and I’m really really stubborn. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s dating one of our best friends and his boyfriend’s gonna move to be next to him. Which hello, I did that first, he stole that like he stole Combeferre. I can’t believe I cried on his shoulder through like the whole breakup.”

“That sounds like a soap opera,” the TA says. “Did you say ABG?”

“So I’m here and I probably can’t deal with these classes and we’re probably never gonna be together again. I should’ve just been a model--yeah, Alpha Beta Gamma, I was Membership Director.”

“I was in ABG in my day. At Princeton, it was the only extracurricular I had time for, after my jobs.”

“I won’t even have time to date, if he did give a shit about me anymore.”

The TA shakes his head. “I wouldn’t say that. I had a couple partners. No sleep, though.”

“Wait, did you say jobs, plural?”

The TA nods. “Working for the most difficult professors is a walk in the park compared to holding down that and an independent business. I was an artist, made decorative fans,   
and did a lot of retail.”

“You should wear a little nametag like you do in retail now,” Courfeyrac says. “I heard some students who sit above me calling you Poland Guy.”

“The name’s L--sorry, last names only, ABG style--Feuilly. I only mentioned Poland twice during lectures,” he says, and they shake hands. Some of Courfeyrac’s eyeliner rubs off from his fingers onto Feuilly’s palm. He has to invest in a waterproof version. “For your sob story, here’s mine. I grew up in the foster system, and I went to med school in order not to fall back onto the streets after college, because I’d started using again. But I’m five years sober and I’m at the best school in the country. I want to head a department someday, and I’m completely stoked to teach people how to make others’ lives better. What do you want, other than that boy?”

“To be drunker,” Courferyac says. “Nice clothes. To go back to my frat. I’m a simple man.”

“Not to get your license and begin practicing?”

Courfeyrac laughs, offers the bag of chips to Feuilly. “Fuck that shit. I’d be just as happy as a pharmacy technician, I’m here to get my MR. degree. He was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m not letting go because he thinks I can’t do serious.”

“That’s certainly up there as the strangest motivation I’ve heard for becoming a doctor.”

“Also, I can save the world and stuff. With him, and our friend Enjolras. Would you mind if I gave you Enjolras’s number, since he’s doing a social science survey thing about health in the foster system?”

“Not at all,” Feuilly says. “Tell you what: I’ll give you mine, and if you ever need help in the class, you go to me first, okay?”

“Alright, but quid pro quo, I need a promise.”

“Shoot.”

“Ask him if he’s going to make an honest man of R when you first talk to him. There’s an initiate who keeps applying and failing. He’ll be a senior this year, it’s not really his fault he’s more interested in drinking than community service. He doesn’t fit in because he’s doing theater since he can’t take the math classes required for pre-med, but Enjolras has been sneaking around with him since he’s president of ABG and Grantaire isn’t even--”

“Oh, it’s a pun.”

“They’re the social currency of my friend group. Enough about those losers, just promise you’ll do it?”

“Yeah,” Feuilly says. “Good luck, Niagra Falls.”

“Same to you, Poland.”

“The medical conditions of the time of the Partition were relevant to the instruction. I don’t know what’s funny about it,” Feuilly says.

“Poland Poland Poland Poland Poland Poland POLAND POLAND POLAND POOOOOLLLAAAAAAANNNNNDDDD!” he calls after the TA as he leaves.


End file.
